


A History of Kissing

by phoenixwings



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Established Relationship, Experimental Style, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Past Relationship(s), past Victor/other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9279356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixwings/pseuds/phoenixwings
Summary: Victor is fourteen, long-haired, and fresh off a Junior Grand Prix win when he kisses another boy for the first time.Or: 5 times Victor kisses someone before he meets Yuuri, and one time he kisses Yuuri.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for unhealthy/abusive relationship in section #4. It's not stated outright, but it's implied that the entire relationship(including sexual encounters) is heavily coercive. Also a character with internalized homophobia in the same section.

  
1.  
  
Victor is fourteen, long-haired, and fresh off a Junior Grand Prix win when he kisses another boy for the first time.  
  
He’s still in school, though now that he’ll soon be entering the senior division he’s heard his parents whispering quietly about hiring a tutor for him so he has more time to devote to his training. Victor’s competitive; he wouldn’t have gotten so far if he wasn’t. He likes winning, he likes gold medals, and he likes the praise he gets for his skating. It’s more than he’s ever gotten at home, anyway, and he likes feeling like he’s good at something.  
  
But a part of him also likes feeling more-or-less normal. He likes being at school, likes being around people who wouldn’t know a flip from a toe loop and don’t have to bandage their feet three times a week. He enjoys being around people his age who don’t run five miles every day, who do normal things like go to the movies and worry about what they’re going to be when they grow up. Victor doesn’t have to ponder that question. When he grows up, he’ll be exactly who he is now: a figure skater, until he physically can’t anymore. Even after that, he’ll probably become a coach or a sports commentator, since figure skating is the only thing he really knows, and will ever have time to know. His life is planned for him.  
  
He likes the plan. He does. But he also likes sneaking out behind the school building with Mikhail after school, both their ears turned pink by the late December cold.  
  
“Heard you won,” Mikhail says. “Congratulations.”  
  
Victor’s not sure what Mikhail is to him. They’re not friends, exactly, but he’s as close as Victor’s come to an actual friend in years. They sit next to each other in a couple of classes, and Mikhail is the only who always tells him what assignments he has to make up when he misses school for a competition. Victor’s also noticed them sneaking glances at each other more and more frequently, and he’s pretty sure they’re both thinking _you too?_  
  
“Thanks,” Victor says. Mikhail steps closer to him then, their feet nearly parallel. Mikhail tips his head up—Victor’s got several inches over him—and brushes some of the lightly falling snow away from Victor’s hair. Victor’s breath hitches as he leans forward, but he doesn’t say anything else.  
  
Mikhail kisses him then, and it’s — it’s even better than Victor imagined, the few times he’s allowed his mind to go there. He can taste a faint lingering of citrus, and he bumps Mikhail’s glasses at one point but he doesn’t even care. Victor’s shy and tentative, but Mikhail isn’t. He kisses Victor like he wants Victor for Victor, and not just because of what he can do on the ice.  
  
They jump apart when they hear footsteps drawing closer, though it turns out to just be a group of teenage girls who pay them no attention.  
  
“That’s for good luck,” Mikhail says, and Victor thinks he sounds a little sad, “For next time.”  
  
When Victor gets home that afternoon, his parents sit him down and tell him they’ve hired a tutor so he can concentrate on perfecting his skating for his senior debut. They talk moving and tutors and coaches for hours, and Victor just sits there and listens, only the subject of the conversation and not a participant.  
  
He never sees Mikhail again.

* * *

  
  
2.  
  
He’s seventeen the first time he does more than kiss. There have been a few kisses since Mikhail, but none of them have been that good or meant much. There’s a fellow skater on the Russia team who keeps sending him looks, and — well. Victor’s learned what that means. The other boy is a good enough skater to be in the senior division, but not much more than that. He grabs a couple of Bronze medals here and there, but never makes it far in the circuit. He’s nineteen and already seems to realize how short his career will be.  
  
Maybe that’s why he kisses Victor so breathlessly and acts like he has nothing to lose. They kiss for the first time in the locker room, though that’s only once because they’re both too afraid of getting caught. They take it Victor's apartment from there on out.  
  
It’s so cold that both of their practice uniforms are still on when the boy slips his hand under the elastic of Victor’s underwear for the first time.  
  
“You want to?” He asks.  
  
“Yeah,” Victor says, without much feeling. It’s not quite the truth. He doesn’t care much about this boy, doesn’t care much about them both awkwardly fumbling and getting each other off. He does want to feel something, though, so he lets himself have the moments of pleasure as frequently as he can. He lets the hormones and adrenaline take over and keeps his mind blissfully blank.  
  
They never talk about it, in Victor’s apartment or anywhere else. On the rink, they barely look at each other. Victor is a shooting star and he easily surpasses the other boy in the technical difficulty of his programs alone, let alone how well he performs compared to the perfunctory routines the other boy does. Each time they seek each other out, the boy grows more and more desperate, like he’s trying to find something to hold on to.  
  
They never do more than use their hands on each other, though the other boy offers once. Each kiss they share grows more eager, but never more passionate. Sometimes Victor wonders idly who the other boy imagines kissing when he closes his eyes.  
  
The boy retires at the end of the season.  
  
They see each other after that a few times, but it’s not like before. The other boy has a life now, with friends who have never been in the spotlight. It’s so far from Victor’s reality the few times he goes out with the boy and his friends, he feels like an astronaut stepping on the moon for the first time. Victor lets him go after a few months, and honestly hopes the boy finds someone he really wants to kiss.

* * *

  
  
3.  
  
Victor has a long dry spell after that, until he’s twenty-one and meets Kostya. Kostya serves coffee at the cafe nearest the practice rink, and has blond hair that obscures one eye and a penchant for thick scarves. He comes to all of Victor’s local competitions, when he can, though he never sticks around afterwards to draw attention to himself.  
  
Victor has fun. They’re careful in public because the tabloids will pick up anything, but when Victor wins gold Kostya buys him flowers and Victor tells him all the figure skating gossip. Once he tells Kostya about Christophe, the Swiss skater who is just a bit too friendly and handsy, and Kostya playfully growls and yanks Victor closer by the scarf before kissing him for the first time.  
  
They never put a label on it, exactly, but there’s an unspoken agreement that they’re dating. It’s a first for Victor.  
  
He’s not good at it. He’s obtuse and self-absorbed, and he snaps at Kostya a little too often when the pressure gets to be a little too much. Kostya doesn’t run away, though, like Victor expects. He makes them talk things through and he pets Victor’s long hair when they make up after an argument. And no matter how many times Victor’s afraid he’s pushed Kostya away for good, they always seem to make up.  
  
Kostya is frequent with his affections. He presses light kisses to Victor’s cheeks in the morning, holds hands with him at breakfast, and leaves every meeting by giving Victor a hug and a kiss. This time when he’s asked if he wants more, Victor says yes and means it completely. Kostya is older and more experienced, but he doesn’t seem to mind Victor’s shaking hands, and just smiles pleasantly and helps Victor out the first time he tries to put on a condom. When Victor comes embarrassingly quickly, Kostya doesn’t make fun of him.  
  
It scares Victor when he realizes how close Kostya seems to be getting to dismantling him. It’s fun, yes, but it’s also too much. It’s more than he wants to allow himself to feel, because he can’t let anything jeopardize his skating. It’s the only thing he has.  
  
One time, when they’re lying together afterward, both sweaty and exhilarated, Kostya plays with Victor’s hair while he asks Victor to move in with him. Victor says no, and Kostya smiles sadly, like he knew that would be the answer. It reminds Victor of Mikhail.  
  
Their relationship ends the same way it began — without any discussion.  
  
For awhile after that, Kostya still texts him good luck messages before every competition. Victor keeps them all.  
  
The messages slow down after awhile. When they eventually stop completely, Victor gets his hair cut.

* * *

  
  
4.  
  
It’s not long after that Victor meets Alex. He’s twenty-two and already tired. They meet in a bar, and their initial hookup is a hazy memory. Alex is tall and gruff, and can tower over Victor, though he doesn’t have the same strength as the professional athlete. Victor laughs at something Alex says, and his breath is hot against the shell of Victor’s ear when he asks Victor if he wants to get out of there.  
  
Victor wants with a ferocity he’s never allowed himself. It’s pure lust that makes him follow Alex out of the bar. Even though anyone can see, Alex pushes Victor against a brick wall and kisses him. He’s strong enough to lift Victor up, like the pair skaters Victor always watches, and their outdoor make out is fueled by alcohol and adrenaline at the threat of getting caught.  
  
Victor goes home with him. Victor isn’t expecting Alex to offer to see him again, but to his surprise, Alex puts his number in Victor’s phone.  
  
Alex is everything Kostya was not: younger, tall, brash, insensitive, and adventurous.  
  
He’s also mean.  
  
Not at first. At first, being with Alex is a whirlwind of adventure and it’s — it’s more than Victor has allowed himself to feel in years. The early days, the good days, are full of surprises. Alex takes him to night clubs and encourages him to try weird food, and in the content moments they plan out all the places they can travel in-between Victor’s competitions.  
  
But when Victor wins his first gold medal since they got together, he sees a bitter, jealous side of Alex. He doesn’t think Alex is jealous of his success so much as he is envious as to what he perceives is Victor’s freedom. They have to be so careful, whenever they go anywhere, and Victor can tell how much it bothers Alex every time he clenches his jaw shut when people stare at them a little too long.  
  
“We’re wrong,” Alex says one time when they’re having dinner at Alex’s apartment. “Aren’t we?”  
  
Victor doesn’t say anything.  
  
“It’s not right,” Alex says, and slams his glass on the table, drink sloshing over the top. Victor doesn’t say anything, still, because he’s tired and it gets to him too, it does. Even though they’ve never so much as held hands in public, sometimes people just. . . perceive. Most people know his face, remember his long hair and sparkling outfits and flower crowns—they make assumptions based on speculation and in the end Victor is just a conduit for their support or their disgust. He’s heard it all and worse.  
  
It doesn’t even hurt anymore, not when it comes from strangers, but it does hurt to hear his boyfriend—is that what they are? — say it.  
  
It’s even worse to realize Alex believes it. Victor tries very, very hard not to believe it too.  
  
The change in Alex is gradual. He’s never unkind with his hands. He tenderly massages Victor’s muscles after long practices and sweeps Victor’s bangs away from his eyes. But even as his hands stay gentle, his words turn to knives. There are more _why won’t you just_. . . and _if you really loved me you would_. . . phrases that pop up in every conservation.  
  
After months of trying so, so hard and never being good enough, Victor snaps. He walks out of Alex’s apartment one day—they haven’t officially moved in together, but Victor spends almost more time there than he does at his apartment—and doesn’t come back. He deletes Alex’s phone number and stops answering texts.  
  
Alex waits outside the practice rink for him one day. Victor expected he would do as much. He towers over Victor again, in that way that used to make all of Victor’s blood rush south in a good way, and he doesn’t lift a hand but he knows how to destroy Victor with just a few words. He throws back all the things Victor’s every said about his family and how he’ll never measure up or be good enough no matter how many medals he wins.  
  
Victor just stands there, waiting Alex out until he eventually gets tired and leaves.  
  
He regrets and regrets and regrets until he thinks it’s the only thing he has left in him.

* * *

  
  
  
5.  
  
He kisses a woman for the first time when he’s twenty-six. He’s at a bar in America after a skating tour, and she’s flirting with him aggressively. She either doesn’t know who he is or she’s hiding it well. Victor knows he shouldn’t let it go on, but it feels good to feel desired again and feel good about it.  
  
She’s almost a decade older than him, with long dark hair and a scattering of freckles across her face and a mischievous glint that never leaves her eyes. She’s pretty and even though Victor isn’t attracted to her, her obvious determination and confidence draws everyone in the bar to her like a moth to a light. She flirts with him shamelessly, and he flirts back because it’s always been easy and fun for him to turn on the charm when needed. She has a sharp mind and a sharper tongue, and Victor’s sure that if he was interested in women he’d be ecstatic just to win her attention.  
  
They kiss right there at the bar, and nobody bats an eye or tells them to get a room. Victor’s not even sure anyone except the bartender notices.  
  
The kiss is fine. It’s . . .  mechanical. He likes parts of it, like her vanilla Chapstick and the tender touch of her hand cupping his chin.  
  
“I’m sorry,” He says when they pull apart, “I shouldn’t.”  
  
And then, without warning, a tear drops on to the bar. Victor blinks the rest back, but it’s too late for her not to notice.  
  
“Who is she?” The woman asks.  
  
Victor shakes his head. “It’s not like that.”  
  
“Oh honey,” She says, and places her hand on his knee. It doesn’t feel like flirting anymore. “Tell me everything.”  
  
He does.

* * *

  
  
+1.  
  
Yuuri’s in the kitchen when Victor gets home from the rink. He’s sweaty and exhausted, and curses the day he thought coaching young skaters would be an easy way to transition into retirement. He’s only thirty-one, and yet every day his students leave him utterly fatigued.  
  
He slips up behind Yuuri, carefully winding his arms around the younger man as Yuuri stirs something on the stove. Yuuri tips his head back so Victor can see more than just the crown of his head.  
  
“Hello,” Yuuri says quietly, placing his own hand over Victor’s, “How was training today?”  
  
“Exhausting,” Victor says honestly, and Yuuri laughs. Yuuri gently sets the wooden spoon down on the stove and turns around so he’s facing Victor. He lightly tugs the short hairs at the nape of Victor's neck.  
  
“You love it,” Yuuri says.  
  
“Yeah,” Victor hums, “I do.”  
  
Yuuri tips his head up and kisses Victor. It’s short, sweet, and chaste— a greeting they’ve shared a thousand times before. It’s a remarkable kiss only because of how ordinary it is. Each kiss they share is a quiet miracle, much like the sun rising each morning — an event you’d never even think about, because if you did you’d never get anything else done, too lost in wonder and awe that it happens at all.  
  
_I’m going to kiss this man forever_ , Victor thinks, _I’m going to kiss this man until the world ends_. He doesn’t say anything out loud, but Yuuri must see his thoughts written clearly all over his face. He brushes Victor’s cheek with his knuckles.  
  
“Yeah,” Yuuri says softly, “Me too.”  
  
Victor makes good on his earlier promise and kisses Yuuri over and over until he loses count of how many times their lips meet and meet and meet and meet again.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come chat with me about YOI or anything else over on [Tumblr](https://burningphoenixwings.tumblr.com)!


End file.
